Page 78 of The Laird’s Sinful Obsession

"Good." Lachlann followed the tracks, his jaw set. "Stay sharp. They might have posted lookouts."

The forest opened up ahead, revealing a steep downward slope toward the coast. And there, picking their way along the rocky path⁠—

Two riders. One carrying a limp form slumped against his chest.

Alba.

Red flooded Lachlann's vision.

"With me!" He spurred his horse down the slope, drawing his sword. "Now!"

The kidnappers heard them coming and tried to run, but their horses were already tired from the journey. Lachlann closed the distance in seconds, his men spreading out to flank them.

"Stop!" Lachlann's voice cracked like thunder. "Ye've nowhere tae go!"

The man holding Alba—rough-faced, with cruel eyes—pulled his horse around to face them. His hand went to the dagger at his belt.

"Come any closer and I'll cut her throat," he snarled.

Lachlann's blood went ice cold. "Ye harm one hair on her head and I'll make yer death last fer days."

"Big words from a man who's too late." The kidnapper's companion had already reached the cove below, where a boat sat waiting. "We've got what we came fer. And Torquil pays better than ye ever could."

"Daes he pay enough tae die fer?" Lachlann dismounted slowly, his sword still drawn. "Because that's what's goin' tae happen if ye dinnae hand her over. Right now."

The man holding Alba hesitated, his eyes darting between Lachlann and his companion below. Calculating odds. Weighing greed against survival.

That moment of hesitation was all Lachlann needed.

He moved.

Fast and lethal, closing the distance before the kidnapper could react. His sword swept up, catching the man's dagger hand and sending the blade spinning away. His other hand grabbed the bastard's collar, hauling him bodily from the saddle.

They hit the ground hard. Lachlann rolled, came up on top, his forearm pressed against the man's throat.

"Where is Thomas?" he demanded. "The guard who helped ye?"

The kidnapper choked, his face going purple. "Castle—still in the castle⁠—"

"Good." Lachlann pressed harder. "Because I want tae deal with him meself."

Behind him, his men had surrounded the second kidnapper, forcing him away from his horse. The man tried to fight, managed to draw his sword, but Malcolm disarmed him with brutal efficiency.

"Secure them both," Lachlann ordered, releasing the first kidnapper and shoving him toward his soldiers. "Bind them tight. They're goin' back tae the dungeon."

He turned to Alba's horse.

She was still slumped forward, unconscious, held in place only by the saddle's pommel. Lachlann reached up carefully, easing her down into his arms.

Her head lolled against his shoulder, revealing a dark bruise blooming along her temple.

They hit her.

The rage that swept through him was so intense it nearly buckled his knees. He wanted to turn around, wanted to draw his sword and run both those bastards through for daring to touch her.

But Alba was more important.

"Me laird." James appeared at his side. "Is she…"